Faded
by asheniel
Summary: Lance is leaving the Brotherhood for reasons unjustified. How can someone look upon his family so impersonally? How could he obviously care so little, yet in the end, sacrifice his dreams for their sake? ~ A tiny bit of Lance/Rogue but it doesn't even c


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Authors Notes – I'm back! I haven't written in several weeks and I think I'm going through writing withdrawal. I've been attempting to start up another chapter fic for SO LONG now but…so far I haven't gotten too far. Between school, work, babysitting, and other stupid things, I haven't so much as been able to sit down at the computer for weeks. But…I've managed and I'm back to…well, not angst you to death on this one. It's just sort of there. Yeah, I guess it's supposed to be angst but…well, you'll see. As you will probably be able to tell by the first paragraph, I was going through a weird 20th century style phase when I wrote this. Oh, maybe that's because it's a rip-off of a story by James Joyce, who is a 20th century author. So it's not plaigarism if you admit to doing it, right? I owe all plot-credit and a several EXACT lines to James Joyce and his story, Eveline. It's a good story, and if you've never read it, you should do so. It's only like, a page long. Otherwise I wouldn't have read it. Oh, and also, the song bit I have right down here is credited to the artist, whom I have no idea who that is and I don't feel like looking it up so I'm giving them credit on a anonymous basis. Yep. I'm doing a lot of stealing today. So…on with the story! Enjoy, and please look out for my new ficcie which should be out…someday! Yay! Oh and review.

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I wish that I could cry

Fall upon my knees

Find a way to laugh

About a home I'll never see

It may sound absurd

But don't be naïve

Even heroes have the right to bleed

I may be disturbed

But won't you concede

Even heroes have the right to dream

And it's not easy to be me

~Fly

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Faded

By NHSpartanGal14

He exhaled and rested his forehead against the unvarnished ledge of the windowpane. Outside, amidst a whirlwind of russet and copper leaves, a man walked by. He lowered his head against a bitter gale of wind and strode onward with an air of purposefulness that seemed to leave footprints where his own feet did not. His heels clicked against the pavement, echoing meticulously in Lance's mind a brief minute after he had faded from his line of vision. He inhaled, the smell of dust tinged with the slightest bit of ginger invading his nostrils. It was not a good smell, but it was not an altogether bad one either. He wondered if he would notice its absence in his new home, if he would maybe even miss it. 

Lance sighed again and took notice of the faint purplish hues that seeped ever so slowly into the sky. Like water, he thought, and told himself that he should watch the sunrise more often after this one. Drips of pink and tiny wiggles of red and orange and yellow—all slowly fading into an endless, endless vault called heaven. 

As soon as the thought entered his head, though, he immediately dismissed it. It would be a great many years before he would take the time to watch the fading twilight again. Maybe one day—maybe one day he would own a rustic cottage on the edge of a silver lake, with a big wicker chair to sit in—maybe then he could sit in the chair as the dawn invaded the night and watch the sunrise once again. Maybe he could even come back someday and sit at this same window; watch the men with clicking heels walk by as the sun trickled its pale tones of yellow and pink into the sky. Maybe one day. 

He wondered if he would ever come back to this place. If he would ever see it again. There was something about the dusty odor of ginger and stale wood that comforted his insides, but then it daunted him as well. He glanced about the room, taking in the bare walls with corners yellowed with age and hidden by cobwebs. There was a worn brown corduroy couch, a rug, a television set and several old magazines that lay half-hidden beneath the couch. Everything was layered by a thin coat of dust, and he had oftly wondered where all that dust had come from. Maybe he would never see these things again, these insignificant objects that he cared nothing for but had never dreamed of being divided with. If he were to come back in ten years, would it all be the same? Or would the couch be gone and replaced by a newer, less faded one? Maybe the dust would no longer fall once he left.

He sighed again and focused his attention on the street. She should be coming any minute now.

Texas or California or even Mexico! She'd told him excitedly, anywhere ya want! We kin get outta this wretched place and run away, just lak in the movies. We kin see the city, Lance! Maybe we'll even go ta New York an' see Ellis Island an' the Statue of Liberty. Ah know it's too close to stay, but we kin just hang around for a day or somethin'…

He smiled at the thought of her face, normally so serious and contemplative, glowing in unrestrained joy and eagerness at the thought of seeing the world. He did not love her, for she was far too unlike him to love, but he was fond of her because they were comrades with an equal goal: to see the world. The world—a vast, pretty place that ached to be explored. He yearned to see it as much as she did, sometimes so much that he could feel the pressure beneath his skin. Maybe out there, free and unbounded, he could actually find himself at home. 

He had left a note for the other residents of the house on the kitchen countertop. They would find it long after he had gone, and he hoped they would not go after him. He knew they did not need them, and he had reviewed their finances several times just to be sure. They might miss him for a while, but they would be well off without him. 

He couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see them again. Just like the furniture that scattered the room in which he sat—they'd seemed so insignificant and he cared nothing for them, yet he had never dreamed of being divided with them. 

His eyes settled upon a faded portrait that hung on the wall opposite him. And yet during all these years he had never found out the name of the man in the photograph. One of his brothers had once told him that that man was their savior, and he had found that hard to believe. But then, that boy had been stranger than the others—even more aloof than he, with beads of blue ice for eyes that never flickered. He briefly wondered if he would be the next one to leave the confines of this household.

The time to leave was drawing closer and closer, and he thought it strange that he felt no sorrow in escaping. This was not his home, but it was the closest thing to it. Just as they were not his family, but the closest things to. He mused of the times that wry laughter had decorated the air of this house, and sincerely wished for more after he would leave. He did not want them to feel anguish over his departure, as little as he cared for them. He still had an obligation toward their safety and happiness, and he trusted that this was all for the best. He felt no unsettlement in his heart and let himself dream of love and adventure in the world.

~*~*~

She arrived without warning, and he was given no opportunity to cast one last glance about the room before she had drawn him away and brought him to the train station, where they would depart. Faceless people rushed all about them, and he tightened his grip about her gloved hand as they were jostled all about. She smiled and giggled childishly in response, her eyes radiant with delight. 

They spoke no words but the excitement that extended from the girl was enough. Only when the train elicited an enormous bleat did he start and taste a bitter nausea upon his tongue. Suddenly, running away seemed ridiculous and frightening. She was speaking to him, urging him to move forward, yet his ears had somehow closed to all of the outside world. He did not answer her, nor move forward. He felt the blood drain from his cheeks as he thought of how much she needed him. They did not need him the way she did. In a sudden rush of fright, he turned his face heavenwards, as if searching for comfort and direction from a godly being. If he went, then he would be in New York in only several hours, cold air whipping his hair about and an even colder unsettlement in his heart. Yet she had raised the money for both of them. Could he really do that to her, after all she had done and sacrificed for him? They start moving toward the train doors. 

"Come on!" She cried, eagerly pulling on his hand and shoving through masses of frantic people. "Come on!"

An immense weight fell upon his heart and he found it impossible to move forward. The train bleated again, a long, low mournful noise, and the walls of his mind seemed to close in on him. He could not do this. He could not. He could not.

"Lance!" Guards moved forward, slamming and locking the doors of the train. Closer and closer, and still he did not respond to her desperate pleas.

"Lance!" In a panic, she tore herself away from him and rushed aboard the train. "Lance! Hurry!" She was screaming and crying now, her eyes no longer gleaming with joy but with a dull, desperate hopelessness.

The guards yelled at her to sit down and be quiet, yet still she called out to him. He set his gaze upon hers, his expression passive and helpless, like a trapped animal. His eyes gave her no sign of love or farewell or recognition.

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end of story

Authors Notes – Yay! This story's a rip off! Review please!


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